We'll Win
by Misty Grimes
Summary: Rick and Michonne try to pick up the pieces after meeting Negan.
**We'll Win**

Michonne would pray that she'll never feel this type of sadness again. Prayers that fell on deaf ears as she tried to stop herself from crying. The sink faucet ran needlessly, drowning the sounds of her whimpers and sobs. What went wrong? Her gut told her not to fall into the false sense of security that the success of the raid offered her on a silver platter, but she did anyway.

She sat on the edge of the tub not knowing what to do next, wiping away her tears and snot for the umpteenth time. Michonne wanted to sleep, but her brain was stirring and firing off images of Negan swinging his bat. His blustering voice echoed in her head, taunting her with his colorful language and exorbitant threats. Michonne could also smell his cologne that rubbed off on her skin when he whispered in her ear that killing her was the last thing he wanted to do to her.

She took a deep breath in and slowly let it out, a shower is what she needed. Michonne stood up and placed the scissors back on the counter and turned the faucet off. Her ears adjusted to the sudden silence where she could only hear the drip drops of water from the sink and distant footsteps. While her eyes adjusted to the new Michonne. Her locs were gone and sitting in a plastic bag on the floor, it was a necessary change after accessing the damage Dwight did to her hair when he cut some of her locs. She could only guess that it was done to send a message to Rick and the others that they had her.

Michonne rubbed her head, the absent of the weight of her locs actually felt heavy. Her face twisted in anger. Maybe if I'd fought harder? But that was her pride talking; fighting harder would have gotten her killed.

She paused, her hand on the hem of her shirt as she tried to shake out tonight's events. Her breath became shaky, her heart raced, and tears threaten to fall, again. Michonne cursed under her breath and continued taking her shirt and pants off. She checked for bruises on her body, only a few scratches from branches and bruising from her restraints. She stepped into the shower, twisting the knobs until the water was as hot as she could bear.

Michonne stood there for a while, letting the water pour down on her, she watched the dirt, grime, and hair whirl down the drain. And then blood. Alarmed, she ran her hands all over her body, seeing if she missed something until she realized it wasn't her blood. Tears streamed down her face as she held onto the wall; her body shaking. That moment came back to her, more vividly, the sound of the thuds, the fear that he'll hit her too after each swing, the blood, bones, and brain matter hitting her face and clothes.

Michonne wept heavily. How did I get here? Can I go back? She missed her parents. Granddaddy, who use to hide his tin of coconut candy from the family, except her—his baby girl. And Andre.

"No, no. I can't think of you now," she whispered to no one.

Michonne lifted her face to the shower head, it made it harder for her to breath and gasping for air had sickeningly calming effect on her. She moved her head when she heard the shower door open and feet splashing in the water. She felt his breath tickling her skin and then his arms hugging her from behind. She held onto him as they both cried together. He kissed her upper back and laid his head on it, she knew he was hurting just as much as her. The contrast between now and that morning was sobering. _This is good. The world is ours for the taking_. If she felt foolish in believing that all was well, she couldn't imagine how he felt. Rick did all of it to feed and protect his family and people, but it backfired. Another setback that cost them a friend's life. Michonne leaned back into him, his head moving to the crook of his neck.

"I don't wanna lose you," he whispered in her ear. Guilt is a parasite, eating away at your self-esteem. She reached behind her and entangled her hand in his hair. Michonne knew what happened broke him, but she refused to leave those pieces scattered, she'll pick them up and glue them back together because she couldn't lose him either.

Michonne turned around to face him, his arms still wrapped around her. His eyes were downcast like a child waiting to be reprimanded. Her hands wandered to his face, she cupped his chin and lifted it up until his red and puffy eyes met with hers.

"Stay with me," he said.

There was a double meaning to her words, she knew how dangerously close he was to falling off that cliff of sanity. He nodded and licked his lips, his eyes observed her shaved head.

His eye began to well up, "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't look that bad, does it?" She jokingly asked. His mouth twisted up and so did hers; their first smile since the ordeal. She reached for the body wash and squeezed a good amount into her hand and began lathering her arms.

Rick stared at her for a moment and then moved behind her, "You look beautiful," he said softly and kissed the back of her neck again. "We'll play along." Michonne nodded, glad that his wheels were turning again. She felt the bath sponge on her skin and the scent of vanilla reached her nose. "Submit for now."

"Strike later," she finished his sentence and turned again to face him. He was still dazed, but she sensedd the fire reigniting within him and her as well. He grasped her chin this time and pulled her closer to him, the water beating down on both of them as he leaned forward to kiss her lips. She kissed back, their tongues meeting, their movements becoming more fervent. He broke the kiss and looked her in the eye; his stare hard and unflinching.

"If I have to burn this whole world down in order to keep you, Carl, and Judith safe. I will."

"We'll be burning it together," Michonne declared.

"We won't tell the others, not yet. Not until he gets comfortable."

Michonne nodded, this wasn't the end and the war was just beginning. Rick turned off the shower head and took her hand, guiding her out of the shower.

"You said it'll be a fight," he said drying her with a towel. At Hilltop, her initial opinion to taking on the Saviors was that it wouldn't be easy and unfortunately she was right. Michonne took the bathrobe Rick handed her and put it on. She watched as Rick dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist, before he could walk out the door, Michonne grabbed his hand.

"We'll win," she said. This was not cockiness speaking. This was the conviction that she and Rick would not die. They were survivors and she had faith that death was not in the cards for them this time. And Rick saw that. He stepped towards her, their mouths meeting once again, their tongues entangling, the fire raging now. Their lips broke apart, both of them breathing harder. They gazed upon one another, both knowing that in this bathroom, they were saying their marriage vows. Rick licked his lips again and smiled.

"We will."


End file.
